


The Purpose of Wings

by AndInThoseMoments



Series: Of A Feather [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Child Abuse, Gen, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndInThoseMoments/pseuds/AndInThoseMoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those with wings are unusual, on the outskirts of society.  But to the wingbearers, they represent much more than the ability to fly. </p>
<p>Introduction to the Of A Feather universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Purpose of Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TriffidsandCuckoos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/gifts).



> This is a start of a series which will consist of several stories happening in the same universe - and as such, contains information about the basics of the rest of them. It serves an introduction, and sets out what will happen in the rest of the stories.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of violence and child abuse.
> 
> For Triffidsandcuckoos, and shadowhaloedangel, the latter of whom inspired me via an rp - Tony's story here is hers, and used with permission.

For Steve, wings were beautiful, even if he had been brought up to believe that they were unnatural and wrong. He'd never seen people with them when he was younger, aside from in the very edges of society. His own had always been something he was ashamed of, and whilst his mother helped him hide them, and hadn't allowed any negativity about them from him, he was still glad they were gone now. He hadn't been glad when they had been removed, when he had been held down so that they could be cut off. They hadn't knocked him out, it wasn't felt like it was right in the case of freakish boys like him. They were unnatural, they were sinful, and they deserved pain. He'd been screaming and terrified and in agony, his back drenched in blood as the two appendages fell useless to the floor. He'd been sobbing, and he'd had them stitch and bandage up the two wounds and give him an apple. He'd shared the apple with Bucky, who sat with him and stroked his hair and told him stories until he forgot how much it hurt. Bucky had said he would miss Steve's wings. He'd been the only one other than Steve's mother to touch them with gentleness.

For Tony, wings were just another way that he could be hurt, another method to allow people to torture him. His wings were damaged beyond repair, like so much of him, and his attempt at fixing it was beautiful agony, exactly what he deserved. He didn't have to be ashamed of the tattered remnants that remained when he had the casings on, but the weighting was too much for them to carry, and until Steve asked him gently if he could make new ones that didn't hurt, it wasn't even an option he had considered. He felt like he deserved to hurt for everything that had happened. But Steve's gentle touches didn't feel like torture. They were precise, and to heal rather than hurt. He didn't think his wings had ever been touched that way, not since he was a child and being shouted at by his father for being a freak. Steve smiled at him, and asked about new cases, and Tony thought that he might be able to build them.

For Clint, wings were profit. He'd drawn attention in the circus, and they garishly suited his stage name. They were useful, they drew in crowds. They helped him kill, enabling him to hover and take shots that wouldn't otherwise be possible. They were useful for other ways of earning money as well. Those with wings had always been in high demand as companions, or whores, call them what you will. It was dangerous - they were easily damaged and fragile, and more than once he'd had bones break or been cut with a blade for daring to have them. But the money was better that way.

For Bruce, wings were escape. They were a way to get away from stress, and while they were unusual, he'd learned young how to hide them from his father. He used them when he was travelling, and lost himself in the play of air currents, in the gentle breezes and the storms that he could ride using them. It was the closest to peace he had ever had.

For Hulk, wings were help. They meant he could do what he did better, could protect his team and catch his friends. He liked his wings.

For Steve, once the team was safe, wings were freedom. The creations on his back might not have been natural, in any sense of the word, but it meant that he could move, to enjoy a range and simplicity he had not had ever before. They felt like something had come home after so long away. The scarring remained, and some nights he'd nearly cry as Tony traced tender loving touches up the twin lines carved into his skin, but they ended now in the strong feathers of what Tony had given him. It felt odd, and it was hard to learn to walk again with the lack of balance (bringing back memories of childhood, of stumbling once they were gone, of how some mornings he would wake and his body would feel horribly light), but he learned in time to enjoy them, and found he could do so much more than he had previously ever dreamed of. He could fly, and he could fly with Tony.


End file.
